Harry Potter and the Land of Narnia
by InkedArt
Summary: The Golden Trio suddenly find themselves in Narnia, expected to help Prince Caspian claim his birthright.
1. Prologue: The Big Bang

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whilst both worlds are based off the books, Caspian's age is based off of the movies. So he is older in this than he is in the books. The story starts halfway through Third Year at Hogwarts.**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own _anyone_. The Chronicles of Narnia belong to C.S Lewis, and Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K Rowling.**

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><p>A loud crack, not unlike that made by a whip, tore through the stillness, and a flock of jewel-coloured birds nesting in a tree took to the sky in fright. Their fear, however, was nothing compared to the fear felt by the three people who had appeared from nowhere.<p>

The strangers – two boys and a girl – looked wildly around at their surroundings, as if they'd never seen anything like it. One of the boys swayed slightly, then turned and was violently sick. The girl screwed up her nose in distaste, before pulling out what appeared to be a wooden stick. She took a hesitant step forward, stick raised, and when nobody jumped out and attacked them, she visibly relaxed.

"Come on, Ronald!" She pulled at the arm of the boy who had just finished throwing up, and shot a look at the other boy. "Where do you think we are, Harry?"

The spectacled boy shrugged. "I dunno, Hermione. One moment I was throwing snowballs at Malfoy outside the Shrieking Shack, next moment there was this huge bang and we were here." He scratched his head as Ron lurched forward, his face a sickly green.

"I am never travelling like that again," he said, swallowing hard.

Harry looked over at his friend sympathetically, before snapping his fingers. "I know!" He pulled out a tattered piece of parchment, his face falling even as he opened it. "Oh, I forgot. It doesn't show outside of Hogwarts. And 'cause we're not on it… well, I know where we _aren't_. We're definitely not at Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned, looking at the piece of parchment. "Harry what's-? Nevermind, I just want to know where we are and how we got here." She gasped, her face lighting up. "We didn't touch a _Portkey_, did we? Oooh that would be marvelous! I've always wanted to travel by Portkey."

Ron shook his head, colour slowly finding its way back into his cheeks. "Nah, can't be Portkey. We didn't touch anything."

Hermione's face fell. "Oh. Shame. Well, come on you two, let's try and find out where we are. I'd grab your wands if I were you – we don't know what we might be faced with."

The trio set off, but they didn't make it very far before Ron stumbled on a pebble and fell down heavily, swearing profusely. "I want to know _where_ we are, and _how_ we got here!" he said loudly, massaging his ankle.

There was a rustling to their right, and a girl stepped out from a bush. Her long hair was down, but two small braids ran from her temples and tied up at the back of her head. Her dress was long (Hermione thought it reminded her of pictures of medieval dresses) and a rich red colour. She smiled sweetly at them, and Harry found himself thinking that she didn't seem like the kind of person who could hurt a fly.

"I'm Que- I'm Lucy," she said, stepping forward. "As for your questions," she added, addressing Ron, "I can answer them both. You're in Narnia, a land once ruled by the great lion Aslan. Of course, he still rules Narnia, but King Miraz, who is actually a Telmar, thinks he rules Narnia. Even though he doesn't have any claim to the throne."

She paused, waved her hand impatiently as if annoyed, and continued. "And as to _how_ you got here, why, I thought that would have been obvious." She smiled. "You _are _witches and wizards, aren't you? Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "Magic," she breathed. "Pure magic. But how?"

"Old magic," answered Lucy. "Aslan's doing. I also have the answer to _why_ you're here, if you'd like that."

"Yes," Harry said quickly. "Please."

Lucy's smile widened. "You're here… to help Prince Caspian claim his rightful place as King of Narnia."


	2. The Prince

The young prince sat under a tree, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly into the distance. Deep down, he knew it wasn't smart: if the group was attacked now, he'd have little time to try and defend himself, but he didn't really care.

A week ago, he'd been perfectly oblivious to what was really happening in his country. He'd been safe in his castle, listening to his tutor tell him stories of Old Narnia, and having his weekly half-hour walks with his uncle, King Miraz. Now, he was amassing an army of all the creatures he had always thought to be long dead, and was planning go to war against his uncle in an attempt to claim his birthright. The way Caspian saw it, it was either go to war, or wait for his uncle's army to find and kill him.

Caspian sighed. His world was collapsing, and he was directly in the centre. He watched a couple of the centaurs fight for a while, their swords glinting in the bright sunlight, and marveled at their level of skill. They were also much more nimble than he ever could have thought.

A dwarf sat down beside him, and was silent for a few moments before coughing and telling him that the High King Peter wanted to talk to him. Caspian nodded, not taking his eyes of the centaurs as their blades danced. "Thank you, Trumpkin," the prince said, finally tearing his gaze from the centaurs and turning to the dwarf. "I'll go see him now."

Trumpkin made a non-committal noise. "I think it's about his sister, Queen Lucy."

Caspian nodded, getting to his feet and heading over to where the High King Peter was pouring over battle strategies. Caspian bit his lip, determined not to argue. Part of him wanted to protest, to say that it was _his_ battle and therefore he should be the one working out the strategy, but the other part – the rational part – knew that Peter had been in many battles before, and had won. Therefore, it made sense that the experienced soldier should be the one to create the plan.

"You, uh, wanted to see me, your Highness?"

Peter glanced up at him, a small frown line appearing between his brows as he made a slight alteration to the battle formation sketch. "Call me Peter, _please_, Caspian. I may be the High King, but you're almost the same age as me, and it's you we're putting on the throne, not me." A smile – or the closest thing Peter could conjure up – flickered across his face. "I've had my time on the throne, and whilst I enjoyed it, I'm very happy for someone else to take over.

"Besides," he added, making a note on a piece of parchment, "this isn't the Narnia I know. I haven't been here in over a hundred years."

Caspian knew. Everyone who had heard the old tales knew of the four children – Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy – and how they had come from another land and, with Aslan's help, defeated the White Witch who had proclaimed herself Queen of all Narnia. Once she'd been defeated, Aslan had made the four children kings and queens of Narnia. High King Peter the Magnificent; High Queen Susan the Gentle; King Edmund the Just and Queen Lucy the Valiant. They had ruled over Narnia for many years until they accidentally got lost on a hunt and found themselves back in their own time, as children again.

Caspian had called them to help him a few days before, and had been very surprised to discover they were children, and not the adults he'd been expecting. Still, once a King or Queen in Narnia, always a King or Queen.

"Trumpkin said you wanted to see me?"

Peter nodded, placing large stones on the flattened parchment so the ink could dry. "Yes, I've just had word from Lucy. She sent Pattertwig ahead to tell us that she's located the three people Aslan said could help us, and after some convincing, is on her way back here with them. They're having a hard time understanding why they're here, but they've agreed to do what they can to help. I just hope Aslan will come and talk to them and explain what they're supposed to do, because to be honest, I don't know what's so special about them. I don't know why they have to help us." He looked at Caspian intently. "I don't know how they're going to help _you_," he said quietly.

Caspian traced the wooden grain of the table slowly, pondering what Peter had just said. Then, he looked up and said simply, "I trust Aslan."

He turned from Peter and instead of returning to the tree where Trumpkin was still sitting, he went to his tent, massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming on, and his eyes were starting to itch. He hadn't slept in nearly two days, due to stress. But saying those words, saying out loud that he trusted Aslan – it made him feel better. He knew from the old stories told by Nurse and Doctor Cornelius that Aslan would always come to those who needed it, and when Narnia needed him most. It was calming, knowing that Caspian wasn't going into battle blindly, and that there was a spark of hope that he could win it.

If only he could turn that spark into a blaze.

The prince entered his tent to find a large mouse sitting in the dead centre of it, polishing a small sword. The mouse jumped up as the prince entered, and bowed deeply. "Your highness!" squeaked the mouse, Reepicheep. "I beg your forgiveness for the intrusion into your private chambers, sire, but I felt the need to reassure you that I will help you in any way I can!" Reepicheep cast a sideways glance at Caspian. "I, for one, know you will make a fine monarch, and I will be honoured to serve under you."

Caspian returned the bow. "Thank you, Reepicheep. I too, am honoured to have the allegiance of the talking mice."

The mouse re-sheathed his sword and left the tent, after bowing once more.

Caspian smiled. He still wasn't used to anyone – people, animals, beings of any kind – coming up and swearing their fealty to him, but he knew he needed to do the right thing; needed to act like the king he was striving to be. But it _did_ make him pleased to know he at least had something of a driving force behind him, and that he wasn't in this alone.

He undressed, peeling off the light chainmail he wore. It wasn't a substitute for real armour, but at least it could protect him a bit if he were ambushed. It clinked as he draped it across the back of the chair and lay down on the bed, eyes closed.

Caspian was deep in thought. _My uncle usurped the throne from my father. He killed my father. He didn't want me to be king, but resigned himself to it because he didn't have a son. He lied to me my whole life, and then tries to kill me!_ His head began to whirl and drum, and he massaged his temples with his thumbs. _And then the Kings and Queens of old turn out to be my age; nothing like what I expected. Now Aslan's sending these three other people to help me and I don't even know what to expect. I know nothing about them._

He found his mind wandering, and opened his eyes, adding out loud, "How does Aslan even know them?" But that was a question Caspian knew he would never uncover the answer to, and it wasn't worth thinking about. Aslan worked in mysterious ways, but he always cared for those who believed in him. Just like Caspian vowed to always care for his subject once he was king, regardless of their species. He looked out his tent, watching the flowers float by.

He caught sight of a pair of large eyes looking down at him, and heard faint giggling, and knew that it was a dryad he was looking at. He smiled, remembering how in awe he had been as a child when Nurse would tell him the stories of the Naiads and Dryads and the Talking Beasts. That was so many years ago now. He had never actually thought he would see them, nevertheless be leading them into battle against his uncle.

As he closed his eyes again, he felt the heavy shroud of sleep overcome him. His last thought before he drifted off was, _I wonder what they're going to be like. _He trusted Aslan whole-heartedly, but he really did hope that they would be closer to adulthood than he was. He didn't want to look like an idiot with seven children defending him. Though, he reasoned, his brain going foggy as he began to fall asleep, if they _were_ children, it would certainly add insult to injury for Miraz to be defeated by mere children. Maybe Caspian was being too hasty. Maybe children wouldn't be so bad.


	3. Aslan and Expectations

**A/N: I hope you like this chapter; it took me a few days to write it so I was happy with it. For those who are big fans of Narnia, I'm sorry that I explain things in the story, but I know for a fact that there are people reading this who know very little about Narnia. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and the three days it took me to write it was worth it!**

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><p>Harry walked behind Ron and Hermione, who were following Lucy. The trees in this part of the forest were too tightly packed for the four travelers to walk two-abreast, so they were forced to walk in single-file. Sometimes, even that was a bit tricky. Harry had a hard time following the path, and numerous times he'd lost it completely, only to see it re-appear at a fork a hundred metres later. He was thankful <em>he<em> wasn't the one leading them, and wondered how on earth Lucy knew where she was going.

"So," Ron broke the silence that had fallen forty-five minutes into their journey. Harry estimated they had been walking for nearly two hours. "Who is this Aslan anyway, and why's he so important?" Ron stepped on a branch, which cracked underfoot and flicked up to hit him in the shin. "Ow!"

Lucy didn't stop walking, nor did she turn around or give any other sign that she'd heard the question. She was so focused on the path and where she was going. Harry was about to re-ask the question when she spoke. "I told you, he's our all-encompassing king, for lack of a better word. Everyone answers to him, even the Kings or Queens of Narnia, but there are some nowadays that don't believe in him. He's not here often, you see."

Harry could see that Hermione was bursting with questions, and was impressed that she had held off asking anything for so long. "But who _is_ he? Why is he your king if you've already got a king? And why does he want us?"

This time, Lucy did stop. She turned around, and looked Hermione square in the eyes. "Aslan is known by another name in your world – in _my_ world. He's kind of the king there too – for those who believe in him, anyway. He's ageless; I'd never be able to tell you just how old he is." She paused. "You're in Gryffindor House, right?"

The trio nodded.

"Well, you know how the lion is the symbol of Gryffindor House – didn't you ever wonder why it was a lion?"

Harry was confused. "I always thought it was because a lion is courageous, y'know, 'heart of a lion' and all that."

Lucy smiled. "That's only half of the story. Aslan's the reason that lions are seen as courageous beasts. Over a thousand years ago your time, Godric Gryffindor found his way to Narnia, and met Aslan. Aslan made such an impression on him that, when Godric founded Gryffindor House, he put Aslan as the house symbol."

Hermione frowned. "But there's no-" she squeaked, her eyes as wide as saucers. "He's a _lion_?"

"Yes." Lucy turned around, and without a word, began walking again. The trio followed her, trying to comprehend what she'd just said.

"Can he talk?" Asked Ron.

Lucy answered with a near-imperceptible nod of the head.

"So he's a lion. Who can _talk_?" Ron was astounded, and stared at the ground in front of me, eyes wide.

Harry was also having trouble comprehending what Lucy had said. It struck him as almost amusing that he was a wizard, and lived in a world where magic and magical beasts were common and expected things, but was having trouble with this.

Unicorns were real. Hadn't he seen one in his first year? So were centaurs – human and horse hybrids with a penchant for stargazing. Phoenixes, Basilisks, Dragons and more existed. He _knew_ that. So why was he having trouble comprehending the existence of a talking lion?

They walked in silence for another few hours until they came across a squirrel. Harry was certain it was the same squirrel Lucy had whispered to when they'd first started the journey.

Lucy paused momentarily – just long enough for the squirrel to race up her arm and settle itself on her shoulder – and continued walking. "Pattertwig, what did Peter say?"

Harry was about to ask Lucy who she was talking to, when, to his utter astonishment, the squirrel began to speak. "Well, Queen Lucy, he's told Caspian that you're on your way and everyone's a little bit confused as to what Aslan expects but of course no one questions Aslan and the High King Peter hopes you get to camp soon and without any trouble."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what else to say. The whole situation was bizarre, and that thought was enough to make him laugh. The world he _came_ from was equally bizarre!

"So, Lucy, are you from here? From Narnia?" Hermione sidestepped a large vine on the ground, and the dryad, to whose tree the vine belonged to, sent a grateful wind to playfully blow through the young witch's hair.

Lucy smiled, glancing back briefly at Hermione. "No, and if I'm honest, whilst we're in Narnia, you three are technically older than me. I come from England in the 1940s; the first time I discovered Narnia, my siblings and I had been evacuated to the country because of the war."

Hermione made a sound of supreme interest. "Oh, _wow!_"

Lucy nodded, pushing her way through the forest. "But in your time, you're older than me. It's confusing but you get used to it after a while."

Hermione looked genuinely interested. "So it's like time travel?"

Ron stared at her. "Why the hell do you find that so exciting?"

"Oh be quiet Ronald. Of course time travel is interesting! How do you th-" she stopped abruptly, her cheeks turning pink. "I mean, it's always interesting comparing the muggle version of time travel to the magical version…" Hermione trailed off, and continued the walk, staring at her feet.

Ron continued to stare at her, perplexed, and glanced at Harry, mouthing 'what the bloody hell is she on about?'

Harry gave a non-commital shrug, not wanting to get in between them.

Lucy turned the corner, and then turned to face the trio. "We're here. And yes, Hermione, it _is_ like time travel. Only more magical." She moved aside and the trio had their first glimpse of the army's camp.

Harry couldn't refrain from gasping. Here, right in front of him, numerous creatures and beings, both of the magical and non-magical kind were preparing for the inevitable battle. Centaurs practiced their swordsmanship; fauns and satyrs were doing some kind of war dance, lead by (as Hermione later informed him), Bacchus; a girl, slightly older than Lucy and the trio was busy firing arrows into a target some distance away and a large mouse then retrieved her arrows; and two boys in light armour were huddled around a makeshift table, looking as though they were in deep discussion, surrounded by a motley crew of Narnians.

The grass was a bright, luscious green and blossoms seemed to dance and sway in the wind as they fell from the trees. Harry later realised that they were indeed dancing, as the dryads celebrated the return of Lucy and the arrival of the trio. Harry was amazed. It looked wonderful.

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><p>Caspian awoke to the sound of pattering feet. He jumped out of bed, sword in his hand, heart racing, but soon realised it was just one of Reepicheep's talking mice.<p>

The mouse bowed long, his nose touching the ground. "Queen Lucy has arrived back with the guests, Your Highness," he said, "and she requests your presence."

Caspian nodded, thanked the mouse and replaced his sword in its sheath as the mouse left the tent. He put on his light shirt, and took his time putting on his chainmail, making sure it sat correctly. Correctly placed armour, even something as seemingly insignificant as chainmail, could mean the difference between a treatable wound and death.

As he left the tent, he found himself hoping that Aslan had made the right decision and sent people that could actually be of use to Caspian. He hoped for adults, skilled and experienced in war, in sword fighting and archery, and even in bare fisted combat, if worst came to worst. Yes, adults: commanding, experienced and willing to help Caspian claim his birthright.

But when he rounded the corner and saw the three people Lucy had brought back, his heart sank. Children. They were _children._ Even younger than him! What was Aslan playing at? Did he not _want_ Caspian to succeed? Caspian used High Queen Susan's horn to call for help from the Kings and Queens of old, expecting adults, but instead getting children about his age. And now, Aslan had _hand picked_these children, convinced that they would be able to help Caspian prevail!

He would have laughed, had he not felt so sick. His hands were clammy and he felt nauseous. There was no way Miraz would take a bunch of children seriously. They were all going to be slaughtered.

He gave the newcomers a quick glance over. The redheaded boy, who looked scared and vaguely ill, stood close by the bushy-haired girl, who had drawn herself up and looked as though she were trying to be as commanding as possible. The dark haired boy, however – now he was quite clearly the one in charge. His eyes were free from fear, though there was a hint of curiosity in them, and he calmly surveyed his surroundings, taking in who was around him. When he saw Caspian, he looked him in the eye unblinkingly, a fierce determination shining.

He stepped forward. "I'm Harry Potter, and this is Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. We've been told Aslan sent us here to help you claim what's rightfully yours."

Hermione had a quick intake of breath, and Caspian heard her whisper: "Ooh, he's quite attractive, isn't he?" to Lucy. Caspian had to bite back a smile as the redheaded boy stepped in even closer to the girl and shot Caspian a look. He briefly wondered if there was something going on between them.

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, thank you for coming. I am Prince Caspian X, rightful heir to the throne of Narnia, which my usurping uncle currently occupies. This is High King Peter the Magnificent, High Queen Susan the Gentle, King Edmund the Just and Queen Lucy the Valiant."

He noticed the trio look quickly at Lucy when he mentioned her name. She mustn't have told them she was royal. "We welcome you to Narnia."


	4. Fearing the Inevitable

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long to update. I got really busy with stuff and I will be busy for some time. I will update when possible. Logan, I'm so glad someone caught that reference! Well done :) **

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><p>Caspian wasn't sure what to do. He'd never properly wielded a sword before, let alone use one in a battle he had waged. Whenever he thought about the impending fight, his stomach would do a series of complicated aerial acts until the prince thought he was going to be sick. He was scared, completely and utterly scared.<p>

He had faith, just like everyone else in the Great Lion from Across the Sea, Aslan, but every now and then no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he felt his faith wane slightly. He loved the stories of old, that was true, but if it weren't for the numerous mythical and fantastical creatures that now lived and had vowed to fight alongside him, Caspian would have convinced himself that they _were_ only just stories.

But Aslan! Caspian shook his head, partly in wonder and partly in disappointment. Aslan had promised wonderful things – according to Queen Lucy the Valiant, at least – yet Caspian was sure it must be some kind of joke.

He could easily picture the look on Miraz's face when eight children, Caspian included, turned up to face him in battle. The prince cringed. His uncle would laugh –_ actually laugh –_ and then most likely kill them all. He sighed. It is very hard to be optimistic when one, barely more than a child, is made to fight one's own relative for what is rightfully one's own, and with only other children and some beasts on one's side!

He tried to have faith, but it was getting harder to hold onto as the days progressed. Only a few hours earlier he'd met the three other people who were supposed to help him. The three people Aslan had brought through time and from another world. Caspian still didn't know how they were going to help him. He wasn't even sure if they knew any battle skills.

The young prince sat himself down on the ground, far from anyone else and buried his head in his hands. If he were any younger, he was certain he would have cried, but as it were, he just stared morosely into the darkness. Aslan was wrong. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy were wrong. Reepicheep was wrong. As were Trumpkin and Trufflehunter. They've should have killed him when they found him, just as Nikabrik suggested. That way they wouldn't be in this mess. That way, no one would have needed to die but Caspian. There was no way he could win this war, that he was sure of. It was impossible. Miraz was a well-trained warlord, a king, and Caspian was just a child.

He breathed in deeply, and let out a shaky breath before opening his eyes and standing up. If he was going to die in battle, he was determined to die fighting.

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><p>Ron Weasley felt sick. For the first time in his life, he was almost regretting befriending Harry. He hadn't regretted it first year, because he knew that Harry would ultimately be the one facing Voldemort – or whoever had wanted the Stone – and he hadn't regretted it last year, as his concern for his sister had outweighed his fear for himself. But now… now he wasn't just a sidekick. Now he wasn't just helping Harry overcome the first few hurdles; <em>now<em> he was right in the midst of the adventure, of the trouble.

He didn't know the first thing about battle. He didn't know the first thing about armour. Hell, when it came down to the basics, Ron didn't even know how to ride a horse. All he could do was wave a wand, and sometimes not even that turned out right.

But no matter how sick or scared Ron felt and no matter how unprepared he was Ron was going to go in fighting. If anyone had questioned him as to why he was going to fight, his answer would have been _because it's the right thing to do._ It was the same reason he had fought alongside Harry and Hermione for the past two years.

As Ron looked around, he decided that if he was going to die, at least it was in Narnia. It was a beautiful country.

"Beg pardon sir," said a voice from behind.

Ron jumped and span around so fast he nearly fell over. He was stunned to see himself facing a badger, who coughed politely.

"Beg pardon sir," repeated the badger, "but King Edmund sent me to fetch you. He wants to see how well you and your friend with the bifocals can handle a sword."

Ron blinked. "You can talk."

The badger bristled slightly, and a cool tone crept into his voice. "Yes sir, I can talk. I'm not a dumb animal. I am a Narnian and my name is Trufflehunter."

"_You can actually talk!_" Ron was astounded, but quickly realised that Trufflehunter found his surprise quite insulting. "Sorry, er, I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. Listen, seeing as you're a badger and all, do you belive in loyalty and equality and being just and stuff?"

Trufflehunter would have raised an eyebrow, had he not been a badger. "Well, I believe in loyalty and being just, but I wouldn't say equality. On one level, I do, but on the other – well, that would be implying that I believe I am on the same level as Aslan, True King of Narnia, and I certainly don't believe that."

Ron furrowed his brow. "You haven't ever met a Helga Hufflepuff by any chance, have you?"

The badger shook his head. "I have not, Ron Weasley. Though _huffle_ sounds remarkably like _truffle_. Why do you ask?"

The redheaded boy shrugged. "No reason. So you said King Edmund wanted to see me?"

Trufflehunter nodded, remembering why he was here. "Yes – he's with your bespectacled friend, testing his prowess with a blade."

"So you said," murmured Ron. "Where are they, exactly? I don't know my way around camp very well."

"I'll lead you," replied the badger, "and then later perhaps Their Majesties Susan and Lucy can show you and your fellow newcomers around camp. If they aren't otherwise preoccupied, of course." He began to head towards a large row of tents, and Ron followed. "Do you have any skill with a sword?" Trufflehunter asked conversationally.

"I'm afraid not," Ron replied. "The only thing I know how to wield is my wand, and it's really light." _And I'm not great at that either_, he thought gloomily.

"Ah," said the badger. "I won't pretend to know what that is. But I do hope you pick up some skills with a blade, for it might just save your life."

Ron's stomach churned, and he felt even more ill then before.

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><p><strong>I apologise for the clunky sentences. I've been reading old books and I seem to adopt that style and formality when I write after reading something old. I'm also sorry this isn't as long as I wanted it to be; I hope that what I have planned for the next chapter will work and that it will be longer!<strong>


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